"You generally play the wriggling eel, but I was too quick for you, my lad."

Sam said no more, for his triumph was only short-lived. He was looking triumphantly at his cousin as the lad got up heavily, feeling his nose to find out whether it was there. The next instant Sam was feeling his own, for he had at last gone too far. Tom had borne till he could bear no more; and in the anguish of that kick he had forgotten company, dressing for dinner, everything but the fact that Sam was there, and quick as lightning he struck him full in the face.

This satisfied him--acting like a discharging rod for his electric rage?

Nothing of the kind: there was a supreme feeling of pleasure in striking that blow. It, was the outlet of any amount of dammed-up suffering; and seeing nothing now but his cousin's malignant face, Tom followed up that first blow with a second, till, throwing his remaining strength into a blow intended for the last, it took effect, and Sam went over backwards, flung out his right hand to save himself, and caught and brought down a great blue china jar, which shivered to pieces on the floor, covering Sam with fragments, and giving him the aspect of having been terribly cut, for his nose was bleeding freely.

So was Tom's, as he caught a glimpse of himself in the gla.s.s of the hall table, while his lip had received a nasty cut, and in the struggle the stains had been pretty well distributed over his face.

But he had no time to think of that, for the crash had alarmed those up-stairs as well as down, and hurrying steps were heard.

The first to arrive was the cook, who, on reaching the head of the kitchen stairs, uttered a kind of choking gasp as she saw Sam lying apparently insensible among the ruins of the china jar.

"Oh, Master Tom, what have you been and done?" she cried.

"Been and done?" came like an angry echo from the landing above, where Mr Brandon had arrived. But before he could say more there was a piercing shriek, he was pushed aside, and Mrs Brandon rushed down the remaining stairs crying wildly--

"Oh, my darling boy! my darling boy! He has killed him--he has killed him!"

She dropped upon her knees by where Sam lay, apparently insensible; but uttered a cry of pain and sprang up again, for the broken china was full of awkward corners.

"Oh, James! James! look what that wicked wretch has done!"

"Look, woman! Do you think I'm blind? That vase was worth fifty pounds, if it was worth a penny."

"I--I wasn't thinking about the ch-ch-ch-china," sobbed Mrs Brandon, "but about my darling Sam. Oh, my boy! my boy! don't say you're dead!"

"Don't you make an exhibition of yourself before the servants," cried her husband angrily. "Here you, sir: I always knew that you'd make me repent. How came you to break that vase?"

"I didn't, sir," said Tom quietly; "Sam caught hold of it as he was falling."

Sam was lying insensible the moment before, but this was reviving.

"I didn't, father; he knocked me down, and then seized the vase and dashed it at me."

"Yes, yes," cried Mrs Brandon, as Sam lapsed into insensibility once more. "The wretch has had a spite against his cousin ever since he has been here. Oh, my darling, darling boy!"

Sam uttered a low groan which made his mother shriek and fling herself down by him again.

"Oh, Mary! cook!" she cried, "help--help!"

"Yes, mum," said the former; "shall I bring a dustpan and brush, and take up the bits?"

"No, no! Water--sponge--help!"

"Indeed, indeed, I did not break the vase," pleaded Tom, as his uncle suddenly caught him by the collar and drew a gold-headed malacca cane from the umbrella-stand.

"I'll soon see about that," said Mr Brandon, with a fierce drawing-in of the breath.

"Yes; beat him, beat him well, James, the wretch, the cruel wretch, and then turn him out of the house."

"Don't you interfere," cried Mr Brandon, with a snap. Then to Tom--"I suppose you'll say you were not fighting?"

"Yes, sir, I was fighting; but Sam began at me, and all because I wouldn't screen him to-day."

"Hah! never mind that," said Mr Brandon.

"Don't beat me, sir," pleaded Tom, excitedly. "I can't bear it."

"You'll have to bear it, my fine fellow. Here, come into the library."

"Yes, James, beat the wretch well," cried Mrs Brandon. "Oh, my darling, does it hurt you very much?"

"Oh!" groaned Sam, and his mother shrieked; while a struggle was going on between Tom and his uncle, the boy resisting with all his might.

"He has killed him! he has killed him!" sobbed Mrs Brandon; "and you stand there, cook, doing nothing."

"Well, mum, what can I do? I'm wanted down-stairs. Them soles is a-burning in the frying-pan. You can smell 'em up here."

"Yes; nice preparations for company," said Mr Brandon, stopping to pant, for Tom had seized the plinth at the foot of the bal.u.s.trade and held on with all his might. "Go down in the kitchen, cook, and see to the dinner."

The cook turned to go, but stopped short and turned back.

"Oh, my darling! my darling!" cried Mrs Brandon.

"Oh-h-h-h!" groaned Sam.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said cook, speaking very loudly, "but please you ain't going to whip Mr Tom, are you?"

"Silence, woman! Go down to your kitchen!" roared her master.

"Yes, sir--directly, sir; but Mr Sam's allus at him, and he begun it to-night, for I heared him."

"Will you go down and mind your own business, woman?"

"Yes, sir; but I can't bear to see you lay your hand on that poor boy, as ain't done nothing to deserve it, and I will speak out, so there."

"Silence, woman!"

"No, sir, nor I won't silence neither; and don't you please call me woman, because I won't take it from n.o.body, not for no wages. I behaves respectful to you and missus, and expect the same, so there."

"Cook, you leave at a month's end," cried Mrs Brandon. "Oh, Sam, Sam, speak to your broken-hearted mother."

"Cert'ny, mum, and very glad to go," said cook, who was working herself up into a pa.s.sion. "To-night if you like. No, I won't; I'll go now, as soon as I've packed my boxes; and if Mary's the girl I take her for, she'll go too, and not stand here sweeping up your nasty old china."

"Am I to take you by the shoulders, woman, and bundle you down-stairs?"

roared Mr Brandon.

"No, sir, you ain't. Just you dare to touch me, that's all; and what's more, you ain't a-going to beat Master Tom, so there now. I wouldn't stand here and see him punished for what he don't deserve. It's all that Mr Sam, who's ma's spoilt him, and indulged him, till he's grown into a nasty, overbearing, cigarette-smoking wretch, as treats servants as if they was the dirt under his feet."